


Restoration

by seimaisin



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-24
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-26 11:57:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seimaisin/pseuds/seimaisin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ongoing fill for a prompt from the DA kink meme, which asked for post-DA2 Anders/Bethany. Grey Warden Bethany finds a broken Anders; Justice is nowhere to be found, and Bethany has been tasked by the Wardens to find out how that came to be. Will she follow orders, or will her old feelings for Anders divide her loyalties?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The rumors had been true. When she saw Anders, Bethany almost wished they hadn’t been.

He lay on a cot in the Dalish camp, face bruised almost beyond recognition, dressed in a cloak that more resembled rags than a piece of clothing. “We tried to offer him another robe,” the Keeper told her, “but he fought anyone who tried to touch him.”

This wasn’t the man she remembered from Kirkwall. That Anders had seemed ten feet tall at times, an apostate with courage to spare, who could toss a bandit fifty feet with a flick of his hand … she’d had a serious case of hero worship back then. And, if she was honest, a rather embarrassing crush. Now, when she looked at him, all she could muster was pity. Pity, and a vague sense of anger - at who, she couldn’t say. The Chantry, her brother, the Wardens, Anders himself … it all mixed up into a heavy weight in her stomach.

Bethany dropped to her knees next to the cot and touched Anders’ shoulder. He flinched and opened his eyes. “Who …” His voice was little more than a croak.

“Do you remember me, Anders?”

He blinked. “Bethany?”

“Yes.” She looked up at the Keeper. “I can take it from here.”

The Keeper bowed and left them alone in the tent. Bethany sat back on her heels and watched Anders struggle to a sitting position. “Do you need healing?”

“No.” He coughed. When he spoke again, he sounded less like he was in danger of imminent death. “The Keeper took care of what she could.” He looked around the tent. “Where are we?”

“You don’t know?” He shook his head. She continued, “We’re west of Tantervale. Still too close to Starkhaven for your continued survival, if I’ve heard correctly.”

Anders winced. “I remember.” He rubbed his forehead. “How long has it been? Since … Kirkwall?”

“You don’t know?” When Anders shook his head, Bethany felt the pity spike with a bit of alarm. “Almost two years.”

“Maker’s breath,” he whispered. “I remember … not enough. And too much.” He looked over at Bethany. “He’s gone, you know.”

“I know.”

Anders blinked again. “How do you know?”

“The Wardens know a lot more than one would think.” She laid her hand gently on his. He stiffened, but didn’t pull away. “I know you were in Tevinter, and I know Justice is gone. Beyond that, I’m hoping you can fill in the blanks.”

Anders closed his eyes. “Don’t hope too hard. I’m not up for memories right now.”

“No, you’re not.” Bethany stood up. “Let me get you a clean robe.”

He nodded, and she crossed the room to grab the garment. When she turned back, he was on his feet - unsteadily, with his hand on the tent pole to steady himself. The rags of his former cloak pooled on the floor around his feet, leaving him naked and shivering. Bethany bit back a distressed noise. Maker, but he was thin, with white scars crossing the skin of his chest and stomach. The bruising seemed to stop just below his shoulders, but he was so dirty that Bethany wasn’t sure.

When she handed him the robe, he wrapped it around his body and gave her a ghost of a smile. “That,” he said, “is not necessarily the expression a man hopes to inspire in a beautiful woman when he’s naked.”

Bethany surprised herself with a laugh. “Yes, well, try me again when you’ve had a bath and a few dozen meals.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back - they sounded too much like flirting, and that wasn’t what she intended, no matter what kind of schoolgirl feelings she may have had nearly a decade ago. Wrong time, wrong place.

Anders sighed and sat back down on the cot. “Meals,” he said, his voice getting distant, his eyes on the floor. “I feel like I haven’t been hungry in months.”

“I’ll have someone bring you something. And you’ll eat it,” she insisted. “Promise me.”

He nodded, almost imperceptibly. Then, he looked up. “Bethany, why are you here?”

“The Wardens sent me.”

“Why?”

She looked away. “We should have this conversation later. When you’re stronger.”

“But we will have it.”

“I promise.”

It was, a small part of her mind whispered, possibly more than he deserved - she’d been standing in the middle of a Lowtown street when the earth began to shake underneath her feet and the red blast of magic tore the sky in two. She hadn’t thought that anything could ever hold a candle to the darkspawn-infested dreams of a Warden, but the Gallows battle still appeared to her in the night from time to time.

Still … after all was said and done, she understood. And that was why she was here. The orders from Weisshaupt had merely been a good excuse.

She felt his eyes on her back as she left the tent. More conversation - and her own conscience’s tug-of-war - would wait until he was a little better.

 

A shy Dalish girl brought him a bowl of stew. The sight of it almost made Anders’ stomach turn, but he was still enough of a healer to know that Bethany was right - food would make him feel better, moreso than any healing or salves.

As he ate, he cycled through his mess of memories. His brain felt rather like an unfinished jigsaw puzzle, with lots of strange fragments that probably went together somehow, if only he could figure out which piece connected to which. He remembered nights curled up in muddy holes, praying not to be discovered. He remembered another mage - a Tevinter magister, something told him, though he couldn’t remember how he knew that or how he met the man. He remembered pain. He remembered begging … for what, he couldn’t recall. And he remembered-

Anders shoved his bowl to the side and stood up. That was the problem with feeling better. He remembered.

He left the tent, for the first time since he’d been discovered by the Dalish hunters. That was … several days? A week? He felt his cheeks redden as he remembered getting up periodically to relieve himself in the corner of the tent. Someone had obviously cleaned up after him, as the tent didn’t smell like his own waste. The Dalish had been better to him than he deserved. Really, he’d nearly considered his time in the tent a hallucination, until Bethany showed up.

Outside, she sat cross-legged next to the fire, speaking in a low voice with one of the hunters. Anders tried to remember the last time he’d seen her. Years … the Deep Roads, he suddenly recalled, with Nathaniel Howe. Or, no, that wasn’t right, hadn’t she been there at the end, in Kirkwall? He could almost see the her Warden armor in his mind, before Garrett had driven him off … but that night could be an elusive memory, and perhaps he was imagining it.

It was strange, mistrusting his own mind like this.

All he could be certain of was the present, and right now, Bethany’s armor glinted blue in the waning sunlight. Her dark hair was bundled into a loose knot at the nape of her neck, and her staff lay balanced in her lap. The years had obviously been far kinder to her than to him. His mind projected an image of a shy, coltish young woman, hanging back behind her brother as they came to his clinic for the first time. He was surprised, actually, that he could remember so well what she looked like - back then, Garrett Hawke often seemed to fill every corner of his mind that wasn’t taken by Justice. (Ah, unrequited love. Lust. Obsession. He never had been able to categorize those feelings properly.) He wouldn’t have thought there was much room for Garrett’s younger sister to take up residence. But, remember he did, suddenly; a wide-eyed girl who had possibly been the first person to seriously, without reservation, tell him that she admired his goals.

This Bethany, ten years older and wiser, certainly wasn’t going to look at him with quite the same admiration. But at least she didn’t look at him with disgust, which was an improvement over some people. The last time he’d seen Garrett … the memory slipped away almost as quickly as it had popped up. Anders was grateful. Some things weren’t really worth remembering.

He moved toward the fire. Slowly, every person in the area turned to stare at him. “Do I look that bad?” he asked.

“It’s good to see you up,” the hunter next to Bethany spoke. Perhaps he was one of the ones who found Anders - that much was still a blur. “We weren’t sure you would ever emerge.”

“Yeah, me either.” Anders folded himself into a sitting position next to Bethany. Every one of his joints and muscles seemed to protest; the pain must have shown on his face, because when he settled, Bethany laid a hand on his back. He felt the telltale warmth of healing, and suddenly all his muscles relaxed. “Bless you,” he said. “I’m getting old.”

“I think that’s more injury than age,” she said.

“Maybe.”

She grabbed his chin and looked him over. “You have a little more color now,” she observed.

“I feel more awake than I have in a while. Which, granted, isn’t terribly awake. But still. I’m not likely to fall face-first into the fire, so I consider it a victory.”

Bethany smiled, and Anders was struck with the sudden urge to lean over and kiss her. The idea startled him enough that he turned his head and stared into the fire. This felt foreign - it had been forever, too long since he’d felt any urges other than the conflicting desires for survival and death. Justice hadn’t left him much room for anything else, not once the chantry plan was hatched. And, Anders marveled, wasn’t _that_ an even more foreign feeling - contemplating any sort of sexual desire without a disapproving voice in the back of his head. It still felt wrong, like he was half-deaf.

Bethany went back to chatting with the hunter. Anders didn’t pay attention to the conversation; he just let the sound of Bethany’s voice wash over him. She sounded … familiar. Like he could just close his eyes and transport himself back to those first years in Kirkwall, when he’d gained a certain amount of freedom from everything - from the Circle, from the Wardens, from the Templars. Even Justice was quieter then, watching and waiting for an opportunity to right wrongs. He should have appreciated those years more. He should have laughed more, drank more, maybe even kissed a pretty girl who looked at him like he was amazing.

“Do you miss it?” he asked aloud. When Bethany looked at him, confused, he realized he was continuing a mental conversation. “Kirkwall,” he clarified. “Before the Deep Roads.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Sometimes. I more miss Lothering, when my whole family was alive and well. But yes, I do miss Kirkwall from time to time.”

“What do you miss most?”

She hesitated. “Hope,” she said finally. “I had so much hope back then. The viscount would grant Mother our estate, we’d make enough money on the Deep Roads expedition to get out of Gamlen’s house and start rebuilding a real life again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’d be dead if it weren’t for you, remember?” She shook her head, as if to clear it, and Anders wanted to apologize for bringing the subject up. Before he could speak, she looked back at him. “Do you?”

“Miss it?” When she nodded, he stared back at the fire. “I miss the opportunities I neglected to take.”

He felt a hand wrap gently around his arm. It was meant to be a comforting gesture, but suddenly, Anders had a horrible sense of a larger hand squeezing his arm and pushing him to the floor. _”Are you ready?”_ an unfamiliar deep voice whispered in his ear. But he wasn’t ready, not at all, this wasn’t what he’d expected, but before he could tell the man he’d changed his mind his arms were clapped in irons and …

Anders was on his feet before he knew he’d moved. He heard Bethany and the hunter stand as well, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at them. “I have to go,” he muttered, before fleeing into the tent.


	2. Chapter 2

They left the Dalish camp the next day. The warm season was wearing thin, and Bethany had no desire to travel the Anderfels in the winter. “When I get to Weisshaupt,” she muttered under her breath as she tied up her pack, “I’m staying until spring, no matter how much I hate everyone there.”

“Weisshaupt?”

Bethany jumped. She hadn’t heard Anders come up behind her. “Yeah. They’re keeping a tighter rein on Warden mages these days, thanks to …” Remembering who she was talking to, she shrugged rather than finish the sentence. “I have to check in there once a year.”

“Oh.” Anders tightened his grip on his own pack and narrowed his eyes. “So you’re taking me to Weisshaupt with you?”

She shrugged. “That’s what I was instructed to do.”

Anders grimaced. “Then I’ll stay here, if it’s all the same to you.”

“I said I was instructed to bring you. I didn’t say that’s what I intended.”

“What do you mean?”

Bethany glanced around the camp, where a half dozen elves stood within earshot. “Will you trust me long enough to get on the road?”

He paused for a moment, but eventually nodded.

Before they left, Bethany left a small bag with the clan’s Keeper. “Some coin,” she explained to Anders as they rode out, “and some lyrium to help the Keeper and the clan healer. The lyrium trade had gotten really strict lately, and most of the Dalish clans can’t get their hands on it, even underground.”

“Something else that’s my fault, I assume.”

Bethany raised an eyebrow. “If you’re looking for me to reassure you, think again.”

His answering laugh had a bitter note. “No, I know better than to expect that.”

They rode in silence for a while. When Anders’ horse edged ahead of hers, Bethany took the opportunity to study him. He wore a spare set of the Keeper’s robes; he was skinny enough to fit into them, but they were a bit too short, leaving a length of pale skin open between the tops of his boots and the hem of the robe. His hair was long and wild, hanging unbound and limp around his face. He still looked wrecked, but he rode with a straight back and a determined look. “Feeling okay?” she asked.

He glanced over at her. “Well enough.” A moment later, he asked, “So, how’s your brother these days?”

She laughed. “Your guess is as good as mine. Last time I saw him, he was boarding Isabela’s ship. I can only assume he’s still there.”

Anders’ mouth quirked upward. “Never could figure out what he wanted,” he murmured.

“Join the club.” Anders looked at her, and she grinned. “Garrett Hawke. An enigma to everyone. Except Isabela, I guess.”

“He drove me out of Kirkwall,” Anders said suddenly.

Bethany’s smile faded. “I know. I was there.”

“I thought I remembered that. But I don’t trust my memory these days.” Anders sighed. “I don’t know why I was so surprised. I actually thought he’d kill me. I wanted to die.”

“Why?”

“Because that would have been justice. I killed innocent people. It’s not like I didn’t know that.”

“Your pet spirit had a curious idea of justice, across the board.”

“Vengeance.” Anders shook his head. “Justice, vengeance. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to really tell the difference between the two.”

They lapsed into silence again. As the sun climbed overhead, Bethany sighed. “You know, I didn’t think you were entirely wrong.”

“What?”

“Something needed to happen, at least in Kirkwall. Probably across the world. I was lucky enough to never have to live in a Circle, but I know enough to know the system was broken. Something needed to shock people out of complacence.” She shook her head, not looking at him. “I just don’t think that many innocent people needed to die for it.”

“I don’t either.” Startled, Bethany turned to look at Anders, who was staring at his hands, fisted in his horse’s mane. “I murdered people. In cold blood. You think I don’t regret that?”

“I didn’t know what to think.”

“I regretted it even when I was doing it. I hated myself.” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “I tried to kill myself once. Hung a rope from the rafters in the clinic. I tried to climb up on that chair four times, and each time Justice took over and stopped me. He didn’t think my death would bring justice to anyone, not even me.”

“In that, at least, he was right.”

“Was he? How many people would still be alive if I’d managed?”

Bethany couldn’t think of a proper answer to that.

The day wore on, and Bethany went into the half-trance she always managed when riding for long periods of time. She nearly forgot Anders was next to her until she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She looked over just in time to see Anders slump forward in his saddle. “Hey!” She pulled over and grabbed the reins from his slack hands. “Anders!”

He pushed weakly against the horse’s neck, grimacing as he sat back up. “I don’t feel so well …”

Bethany managed to lead both horses to a nearby clearing before Anders lost his seat entirely. She slid from her saddle just in time to keep him from tumbling head-first into the dirt; instead, she ended up on her ass, with Anders tangled in her legs. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I just … I can’t …”

He passed out, leaving Bethany dirty, sore, and swearing. “Andraste’s ass, what am I going to do with you?”

It took a while, but she managed to drag him away from the horses and settle him onto a blanket. By the time he woke, dusk had descended, and she’d built a fire. She watched him from across the fire. “You okay?”

He jumped at the sound of her voice, sitting up straight and staring sightlessly into the fire. When Bethany stood up and started making her way around to him, he scrambled back beyond the blanket and looked up with wild, terrified eyes. She stopped short. “Anders,” she said softly. “It’s me. It’s Bethany.”

Anders curled up into a ball and closed his eyes. Bethany watched him for a moment as his breathing slowed to something closer to normal. Only then did she close the distance and kneel beside him. “Anders?”

He stiffened when she touched him, but a moment later he exhaled and relaxed, leaning into Bethany. “Maker help me,” he whispered.

Instinctively, Bethany sat on the ground and put her arms around him. Anders let himself relax against her, resting his head against her shoulder. She was struck once again by how thin he was. She lay a hand against his chest and rubbed in a small circle, until she felt his heartbeat slow. She wanted to ask him about it - what was wrong, what he’d dreamed about, what he saw when he stared into the fire. But the longer he clung to her, the less that seemed like a good idea. Even when his breathing and heartbeat returned to normal, Anders continued to shiver. Bethany could only tighten her arms around him and hope she was doing some good.

A few minutes later, Anders sat up and pulled out of her grasp. He turned to look at her; shadows from the fire danced across his face, making him look even more pale and eerie than he looked in the daylight. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rough.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” He averted his gaze. “It’s really not.”

“Do you want to -”

“Talk? No.” He looked back at her. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she repeated.

Abruptly, Anders stood up. Bethany watched him sway on his feet, but he stayed upright and walked to the other side of the fire. A safe distance away, she thought, and her heart squeezed in a queer ache. She got up and busied herself heating a small pot of soup for dinner. Eventually, Anders cleared his throat. “I don’t want to go back to the Wardens,” he said softly.

“I won’t make you.”

“You have orders, you said.”

“I do.” She felt her mouth twist into a parody of a smile. She handed him a bowl of soup and watched as he reluctantly spooned a little into his mouth. Satisfied, she moved away again and sat down with her own dinner. “From the First Warden himself. He rarely deigns to talk directly to peons like me. I’m just a little girl, a mage from a backwater country who can’t even claim to have been involved in the Ferelden Blight, other than to run away from it. So I was pretty shocked when he came to me.”

“I never met him. We only got a couple of people from Weisshaupt when I was in Amaranthine.” Anders let out a sudden laugh. “Mistress Woolsey was from Weisshaupt. She always reminded me of the worst of my Circle instructors, the kind that always disapproved when I tried to have any fun.”

Bethany laughed. “I’ve spent a lot of time at Vigil’s Keep, I know Mistress Woolsey. Believe me, she’s the very soul of warmth and friendliness compared to most everyone else at Weisshaupt. Though, she’s probably been worn down by her years at the Keep. It’s fairly impossible to be aloof around there.”

“I don’t exactly remember the Keep fondly. I should,” he admitted, “and I will forever be grateful to the Commander for keeping me out of the Chantry’s hands. But all I can remember is feeling just as trapped there as I did in the Circle. I know it’s unfair. There were good people there. After the Circle, I just hated being obligated to be anywhere.”

“I can understand that. Me, I love the Keep,” she admitted wistfully. “I wish I could be permanently assigned there. But apparently I’m more valuable to the Wardens on the road. Or in the Deep Roads.” She made a face. “Ugh.”

“Who’s at the Keep these days? Anyone I’d remember?”

“Nathaniel’s in charge of the Wardens there, now that the Commander is off … wherever he is. No one seems to know.” She shrugged. “Oghren is still there, too. Varel and Mistress Woolsey … that might be it. The people change every time I leave, so I only know the people who’ve been there forever.”

“Nathaniel in charge.” Anders chuckled. He looked markedly more relaxed, and Bethany saw his bowl sitting next to him, empty. “Kinda sounds strange, considering I first saw him languishing in the Keep’s dungeon for trying to assassinate the Commander.”

Bethany raised an eyebrow. “Now that’s a story I’ve never heard.”

“Really? I bet Nathaniel’s pretty embarrassed by it now, but I would have thought Oghren would tell every new Warden he could find, just to piss him off.”

“If he does, I apparently missed it.”

To her surprise, Anders launched into the story, followed by several other tales of his time at Vigil’s Keep. As Bethany giggled, he finished up with, “... and then Cera slapped me and told me she would never speak to me again. Which lasted right up until I snuck into her bedroom that night.”

“You didn’t!”

“She and I had a history. We started at the Circle around the same time, but around there, she barely gave me the time of day. Getting her into bed was one of my proudest accomplishments as a Warden.” He grinned. “I was clearly not a very good Warden.”

“If she didn’t electrocute you the minute you snuck in, you were apparently good at other things.”

“Oh, I was. Trust me.”

The slow grin that spread across his face made Bethany’s heart flip in a way she hadn’t felt since Kirkwall. To cover her blush, she stood up and gathered their bowls. “It’s getting late,” she said. “We should probably get some sleep.”

His grin faded, and Bethany mentally cursed herself. “I think I’ll stay out here for a while,” he said, glancing at the small tent behind her. “You go ahead.”

She left him staring into the fire. She could only hope he wasn’t seeing whatever demons plagued him inside it.


	3. Chapter 3

In the end, Anders hadn’t been the one in control when the deal was made.

 _”You can do this,” he heard the voice - deeper than the one that usually came out of his mouth, heard as if through a long tunnel - say. “You can separate us.”_

 _The magister nodded. “I make sure he lives, and you agree to stay with me.”_

 _“Yes.”_

 _Anders knew Justice’s thoughts. He usually couldn’t differentiate between his own and the spirit’s, but Justice had managed to erect some kind of wall between them, something that kept Anders from arguing. Justice had his own plans for the magister, just as the magister had plans for him. Anders didn’t rightly know which of them would prevail._

 _Justice and the magister shook hands. Anders felt the magister’s slightly sweaty palm -_

 _\- and felt that same palm flat against his bare chest, burning the skin. He heard chanting, felt something pound inside his head. And then there was pain, so much pain, and he screamed -_

Anders jerked himself out of his half-sleeping trance. He didn’t think he’d actually screamed, not this time. There was no movement from the tent, so obviously Bethany hadn’t heard him. Shivering, he poked at the coals of the now-dead fire. He could rebuild it, he thought, or - as the eastern sky was almost beginning to look lighter - he could head into the tent and pretend to sleep for a while in a little more warmth. The latter was probably the better option.

The tent was small, barely long enough for two people to lay down. Anders found an empty bed roll already laid out and waiting for him. He flashed a grateful look at Bethany, who stirred in her sleep as if in response. She’d stripped down to her smallclothes, which Anders found odd, considering the temperature. Then again, he hadn’t seen any clothing in her packs other than the Warden armor she wore, and armor wasn’t exactly comfortable for sleeping. And she didn’t look cold; the tent blocked most of the cool breeze that had caused goosebumps all over Anders’ skin. The blanket was bunched at her waist, leaving her torso exposed as she curled up on her side, facing Anders. The way her arms curled in front of her caused her breasts to swell over the top of the cloth covering them. Anders could almost imagine that, if the light were better, he could see a hint of pink nipple over the pale cloth.

He felt himself flush as he realized he was staring. But, really, he’d always been fond of a woman’s breasts. It had just been a long time since he’d been allowed to appreciate them properly. And Bethany’s breasts were worth appreciating, he could admit here in the dark, when she wasn’t conscious to notice him. Always had been; he remembered a night at the Hanged Man, when a very drunk Garrett started threatening to run Varric through with his dagger if the dwarf didn’t stop staring at his sister’s chest. Varric just laughed, and Bethany blushed red enough that Anders had been afraid she might burst into flames. The blush, in fact, had crept down her neck and into her cleavage. Anders had been very careful to avert his gaze after that, because he’d never had the kind of easy friendship with Garrett as Varric had, and he was afraid the man might actually make good on the threat if he caught Anders ogling his baby sister. (He’d decided to ogle Garrett instead. A much safer choice.)

To his shock, Anders felt his cock stir underneath his robe. How long had it been since he’d actually been aroused? Years, he was sure. Back in Kirkwall, he’d spent an embarrassing number of nights laying on the cot in his Darktown clinic, frantically jerking himself off when the urge overcame him. Justice hadn’t approved of releasing that frustration with anyone else; sex would only distract him from his ultimate goal, would make him soft. After a while, though, the obsession had consumed him and driven all sexual thoughts and desires from his head. And then, after the Chantry … well, Anders still didn’t remember everything. Didn’t want to; however, he was pretty sure sex didn’t figure in anywhere.

Now, though, sitting on this cold ground in a tiny tent … Bethany sighed in her sleep, causing her breasts to heave, and his cock stiffened. Images sprang to his mind, unbidden - of crawling over Bethany, waking her up with his teeth lightly scraping her ear, of filling his hands with her generous breasts and feeling her lithe body arch up underneath him. Sex would be like riding a horse, he figured. Once upon a time, Anders had known dozens of ways to make a woman scream his name. If he was given the chance to lay hands on the woman next to him, he’d remember them all.

He shouldn’t be thinking about this. He tried to picture Garrett with his blade at his throat, but could only manage an image of a younger Bethany leaning over a table at the Hanged Man, laughing hard enough that her breasts jiggled in her low-cut blouse. _That_ did not help in the least.

Anders laid on his back, wincing as his cock rubbed uncomfortably against the layers of his robes. The elves had been kind enough to provide him with robes, but not with smallclothes, so his cock was free to poke up at an awkward angle and create a telltale bump at his crotch. He was desperately grateful that Bethany was still asleep. A momentary worry had him looking back over at her. “Bethany?” he whispered. She didn’t stir, and Anders exhaled in silent thanks. He closed his eyes and waited, but his erection refused to go away. No matter how hard he tried to clear his mind, he continued to see erotic images behind his eyelids - Bethany straddling him, sinking down onto his cock, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders as she rode him. He could almost hear her moaning … but no, that was just his own voice, letting out an involuntary groan at the thought. His eyes snapped open, and he turned his head, but her eyes were still closed and her breathing even.

Finally, Anders decided he’d had enough. With one more glance at Bethany to make sure she didn’t stir, he unfastened his robes and freed his cock. Slowly, he wrapped his hand around himself, biting his lip to keep from groaning again. Maker, but the contact felt good. _I should go back outside_ , he thought. He should do this somewhere away from her, somewhere less likely to cause either of them embarrassment. But another look at her showed that yes, one nipple peeked out over the edge of her clothes, small and erect in the night’s cool air. His hand began to move almost involuntarily, and after that, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get up and walk without tripping over his own feet and waking her. So, he wet his palm and tried to be as quick as possible.

He closed his eyes and let every erotic thought he’d tried to suppress overwhelm his mind. He imagined what it would feel like to be buried deep inside her body, to have her legs locked around his waist, pulling him closer with every thrust. He imagined what she would look like spread out naked on the blanket while he fucked her. Would she grab the blankets underneath her, or would she dig her nails into his flesh, marking him in her desperation? He felt a primal sound bubble up in his chest, and flung his free arm over his mouth to keep it from breaking free. He’d likely have a visible bite mark on his forearm in the morning from his efforts to keep silent. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to explain it to her.

The dull pain the bite caused did him in - the sensation melded with the hot waves of pleasure in his cock and made his back arch up off the ground. Anders couldn’t control the audible gasp that escaped as he came. He felt wet warmth trickle through his fingers and onto his belly; his first orgasm in far too long.

He lay still for a few minutes afterward, breathing deeply, his hand still wrapped around the base of his cock. _Good to know you still work,_ he thought with some amusement. Maybe someday, he’d even get to see if it worked with another person again.

At that thought, Anders opened his eyes and turned his head back to Bethany. She no longer lay on her side; instead, she was sprawled on her back. The blanket had somehow been pulled up to cover her breasts. Her breathing was still slow and even, but Anders still felt a jolt of shame skitter up his spine.

Maybe she’d just adjusted in her sleep. _Please, Maker, let her have pulled the blanket up in her sleep._ If he’d woken her - if she’d seen him …

Anders hastily refastened his robes and turned toward the other side of the tent. He stared at the shadows in the corner for a long time, but eventually drifted into an uneasy - but dreamless - sleep.


End file.
